Suspended in Light - Finished Story on Archive of Our Own
by HalfShadows
Summary: Edited Version: Thank you for all of your patience! Steve tried to protest: "You think I wanted to hurt him? Do you think it made me happy to see the little bit of trust Tony had in me die that moment?" In which Tony is afraid of Steve, Steve has faults, and they both are oblivious to love.
1. Chapter 1

"Fine." Tony clenched his jaw and forced himself to nod along to Fury. Though the pirate didn't know, Tony was just trying his best not to have a panic attack—he was sitting across the table from a man who was the fuel of his many nightmares. A man who Tony had last seen when he was being left to die, slowly and alone. A man who he had grown up worshipping.

A man named Steve Rogers.

Tony stared into his lap and nodded along. He felt as if the SHEILD meeting room was closing in on him and he didn't know what was being said, or who was being spoken to; he only knew that he wanted to get the hell out of there. Tony clenched his hand into a fist tightly and tried to focus on the pain that his fingernails caused as they drew blood. It was better than the feeling of Steve's overwhelming presence surrounding him—suffocating him. All he could see was Steve's shield pounding into his chest, a horror movie stuck on repeat.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he heard a voice break through his fog: "Tony?" He tried his best to latch onto it, to follow the voice back to its owner and into the present world. "Tony?" the voice questioned again, this time more insistent.

He looked up and found himself eye to eye with Natasha, the rest of the room had been abandoned and they were the only two left. He blinked rapidly as he tried recall what was going on. _You came here to meet about the avengers. Something about the Accords being fixed._ A glance at his watch signaled that several hours had passed since he had first arrived at SHEILD.

"Tony, why are you still here?" Nat's face looked puzzled as she informed him, "The meeting ended hours ago…"

Tony slid into his usual façade quickly. "Just hiding from the paparazzi Nat, it's not every day a playboy billionaire can get some down time." He titled his head lazily in what he hoped was an endearing way, and gave her a suave grin to help sell the act.

But Natasha's expression said she wasn't buying it, and Tony truly had no way of knowing how long she had seen him in his pathetic state. He deflated, but tried to ward her off again: "I'm fine."

 _No you're not,_ his inner voice chided him. In fact, Tony was farther from fine than he had been in quite some time. He existed somewhere between a numb acceptance of all the pain he felt he deserved, and a gut-wrenching fury that he had not tried harder, done better, to protect the one's he loved.

His nights were plagued with terrifying nightmares and haunting memories while his days were filled with remorse and sadness that he was all alone. He quickly shoved down his selfish thoughts, _but that's not Nat's burden to bear_.

"I'm fine, really." He echoed, as if the repetition would somehow convince Natasha, and maybe even himself, that he was being genuine.

Nat looked at him with a piercing gaze. The spy was wearing an expression that held many emotions: pity, understanding, and something that said "If you don't tell me what is going on right now, I will use every interrogation technique I know to get the truth from you."

Tony held her gaze defiantly for a moment before sighing in defeat; he was too tired to put up a real fight. She grinned in triumph and took a seat next to him. Crossing her legs she waited patiently for Tony to explain.

He inhaled shakily, pulled off the pair of stylish sunglasses he was wearing and simply said: "I don't know what happened." He shrugged his shoulders like that-was-that and he had nothing else to offer. As if it was normal to lose all sense of reality and be imprisoned in the dark corners of his mind where his most excruciating memories tortured him. For him, it kind of was.

Nat looked at him with concern and finally spoke, "I'm not sure what happened either, you zoned out for a very long time."

Tony shook his head, "No, I know what just happened." He was frankly too familiar with the panic that came from being sabotaged by his own mind: "I saw Steve and had to focus on not having a full blown panic attack."

Natasha's eyes widened in understanding. Nat had seen the way Steve and Tony looked at each other, and she knew that both men were struggling without the other—despite never admitting it. But she had also seen the way that Steve had fought Tony as if he were a complete stranger, and had seen the aftermath of Siberia.

Still, she had been hopeful, "I had thought you two would be able to get over your differences since you both mean so much to each other."

"I've been trying to get over him since the moment I met him, so I'm one step ahead of myself." Tony paused, shocked by the truth in that statement. He powered on: "But since I put _all_ of my energy into that, I don't know what happened in the meeting at all…Though now that I think about it, I never really pay attention to this type of thing anyway, so I couldn't have missed much." Tony concluded with his signature lopsided grin.

Nat rolled her eyes and gave a soft smile in return. Her gaze, however, held a certain sadness in it. "You did a good job of faking it, Stark. I'm not sure Steve would have gone along with all of this if he had known you weren't aware of what you were agreeing to."

Tony chuckled, "It's a skill I picked up from countless Stark Industry board meetings—you just need a good pair of sunglasses." Tony then realized what she had said about Steve. His face darkened. "And what exactly did I agree too?"

"Team bonding."

"Shit." Tony could sense what was coming next.

"You just agreed to the have the Avengers live at Stark Tower." Her eyes narrowed, "Including Steve."


	2. Chapter 2

Tony paced relentlessly back and forth across the floor of his workshop, he was a nervous wreck: eyes darting, heart constricting, sweat-stains growing. He had gone down there around midnight when it had been clear that his mind would not allow him to sleep. Tony had thought that if he were tinkering with something he would be less inclined to think about every possible thing that could go wrong when the so-called "team" moved into the tower that morning.

Despite his racing heart, Tony was thoroughly exhausted. It took a lot of effort to fend off his own minds relentless attacks. His thoughts were his worst enemy, trapping him in the horrors of his life. Tony had still yet to decide if it was better to not sleep at all, or sleep with nightmare plagued dreams.

Howard, Obie, the Chitauri. _Steve_. He silently cursed himself for adding Steve's name to the list. But no matter how hard he tried to forgive Steve, no matter how much he wanted to mend their rocky friendship, his mind could not reconcile with his heart. _You can't have him so stop longing._

Because that was what destroyed you in the end: the longing for something you could never have.

Tony's pacing and bottomless thoughts came to a stop when he caught his reflection in the window. He was staring into the face of a stranger. Though his weight loss and pale complexion were shocking, his eyes were the scariest part. Once alive with a mischievous glint, the fire inside them was no longer alight. They had dulled from bright reflections of hope into wistful echoes of everything he had done wrong.

The last few months had been particularly rough on him: Pepper had left. She hadn't been able to deal with Iron Man's frequent close-calls. Apparently his "self-destructive tendencies" were not healthy for a relationship. So he had lost the one person he had learned to open up to, and, maybe even more damaging, the one person that had regularly reminded him to eat and sleep. Two things he did rarely these days.

He only really had Rhodey left, and he was always on tour with the military. Tony winced. Every time Tony thought of Rhodey he was reminded of the near fatal accident that had left him having to learn how to walk again. It was something he would never forget, how he had almost gotten his best friend killed.

Tony tore his gaze away. "Pathetic" he spit out with venom.

In the night, Tony's loneliness crushed him, as if the sky itself had swooped down to smother him in its cold arms. Overwhelming loss seemed to follow Tony, and it had left him empty—a shell of someone who used to be. But beneath it all, Tony was a survivor, and he would never shatter completely, no matter how many cracks he collected.

He resumed his pacing.

Pepper, Jarvis, Steve—he had lost everyone he had needed the most in one way or another, and there was no way of getting any of them back. And though he wasn't sure that he had ever had Steve to begin with, he had wanted to—oh, how he had wanted to.

As the morning crept on, the sun cast a pale glow into the workshop. Tony cursed at it. The light meant that he was getting closer and closer to having to slap on his billionaire-playboy façade for the benefit of others.

He checked his watch; 30 minutes until their arrival. _My watch!_ A rare smile flickered across his face.

Tony had an idea.

"Friday where did I put the Iron Man watch gauntlet?"

"I believe you threw it in an incinerator after it was damaged beyond repair, Boss."

"Lovely" Tony muttered as he hastily pulled up the schematics. He glanced at a computer, 20 minutes until they arrived; probably not enough time to make the watch. But it was only 20 minutes until _Steve_ arrived, and Tony desperately needed some form of protection—some way that he wouldn't feel powerless in front of Steve.

So Tony lied to himself: "I've still got time.

Precisely 20 minutes later—because Steve prided himself on being punctual—he stepped out of the elevator and onto the common room floor with Nat and Clint. Friday had let them in per Tony's request. He hadn't wanted to keep the Captain waiting.

Steve looked around longingly. It was certainly a familiar space to all three of them. A place where they had shared laughs and drinks in a happier time when they had all been friends. Now, the space was empty and nothing was simple; the room weighed heavily on Steve.

Like a blanket made of iron.

"No Tony" observed Clint, who had already made himself comfortable, pouring himself a drink behind the bar.

"I'm not surprised." Steve scowled and shook his head. _Of course he wouldn't give us a second of his precious time._ Steve felt a harsh gaze drill into him, and he looked around to see Natasha staring at him disapprovingly, as if she could hear his condescending thoughts.

Still staring into Steve's soul, she spoke to Clint. "You'd better pour me a tall one, this is going to be a long day."

Seconds later Tony burst into the room, "I'm here! I'm here!" he exclaimed. "Sorry I'm late for the family reunion, I got caught up in the shop." Tony absent-mindedly fiddled with his freshly made watch. It was the only thing keeping him grounded in the moment, serving as reassurance that if Steve decided to attack him, he wouldn't be completely helpless.

Steve eyes followed Tony perceptively as the mechanic walked all the way around the room to where Clint had just placed Nat's drink. "For me, Hawk? You shouldn't have!" His words dripped with ease and arrogance. "But since you are all technically my guests, I guess I'll be nice and share with Nat." He winked at her and slid the glass her way, no one the wiser that Tony had actually given up drinking in an attempt to fix himself.

Tony clapped Clint on the back and folded him into a hug. Soon they broke into laughter at something one of them whispered to the other, and it took them quite some time to regain any sense of composure. While Nat just laughed, Steve's eyes narrowed at the embrace. _Why can't it be that easy for us?_

Tony then made his way to over Nat. "Nice to see you again, _Natalia_." He gave her another wink and a quick kiss on the cheek. Yet behind the lighthearted gesture Steve noticed something else flicker between them. It was as if they both had some understanding of the present situation that no one else did.

Steve couldn't deny the pang of jealousy that hit him when he realized that he would get no warm embrace or kiss. _Why are you surprised? He won't even make eye contact with you._ The two stubborn men had rarely gotten along before, but it was like Tony was afraid of interacting with the soldier. It had been the same at the meeting with Fury the other day: Tony had acted like Steve wasn't even there.

Well, if Tony wouldn't start talking to Steve, he would start talking to Tony, "Thanks for letting us stay here, Stark" he tried. _Come on Steve…why do you sound like you're talking to a stranger?_

"I – I mean we— we all missed this place." Steve inwardly groaned at his awkwardness, but he offered up a tentative smile, trying to get one in return from Tony.

Yet all he got was a quick glance and nod from Tony before the man let his eyes drop. Steve's own eyes followed in disappointment and landed on the watch that Tony was now fixated on. He was probably trying to show off a new invention.

"No problem, Cap." Tony's voice was distant. The room was plunged into a cold silence that felt like a living thing.

Shattering the silence, Clint clapped his hands and exclaimed: "Well this has been fun, but I've got better things to do!" And with that, the archer hopped onto the counter, shimmied up the wall, and disappeared into the vents that Tony had designed specifically for him.

The whole room felt lighter, everyone grateful for the change of focus.

Tony looked to Nat, "Each of your own floors are pretty much how you left them. I may have made a few changes and updates here and there." He looked around nervously and quickly added, "but if you don't like them I can fix it."

Nat scoffed, "I'm sure whatever you did is great Tony." She gave him a quick nod and told him, "I spoke with Banner and Thor about Fury's orders, but their recovering from some type of game so they won't be here for a while."

Tony was intrigued, but he needed to escape the room that seemed to be growing smaller and smaller with each passing moment, so he just nodded and disappeared down the stairs.

Steve looked longingly after the other man's disappearing figure. "He can barely look me in the eye, Nat." Steve's shoulders drooped and he walked to the window, gazing out at the vast city before him.

Nat walked over to him and placed a delicate hand on his shoulder; she stayed silent, letting him bounce his thoughts off of her.

"I think he actually walked around the entire room to get to Clint so that he could avoid walking by me." They stood in silence, Steve surrounded by his own thoughts and desires.

Natasha's question cut through his fog with an assassin's precision: "What do you truly know about the guy?" Steve opened his mouth, but before he could get a word in Nat cut him off, "Besides the fact that he can be an arrogant ass sometimes."

Steve paused, caught off guard. It was a long time before he replied again. "I know that I loved him. And now he is gone."

Nat just shook her head at the past tense, Steve could be just as oblivious to his own feelings as Tony could. "Tony's stronger than you think—he is stronger than _he_ thinks. But sometimes loneness is a choice." She paused, letting her wise words sink in. "You just have to convince him to choose otherwise." And with that she slinked out of the room, leaving Steve to his thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

**"** Okay Boss, the coast is clear, Captain Rogers has been out of the building for 45 minutes on his run. You should be able to go upstairs and avoid meeting him for at least another half hour."

Tony let out a sigh of relief, "Thanks Friday." He knew that it was childish to be avoiding Steve (and borderline creepy since it involved keeping tabs on Steve's location) but Tony had discovered that the less he saw Steve, the less scared he had to be.

So Tony had Friday help him with "Operation Avoid Steve" over the last week that they had all been in the tower, and it had worked surprisingly well—Friday would let Tony know if Steve was gone from a place Tony wanted to be, and she would give him an ETA on when Steve would get back.

Did Tony think it was a little pathetic that he couldn't be in the same room as Steve? Maybe. But he knew that it was better than having a near panic attack every time he saw the man.

So Tony walked upstairs and joined Clint and Nat in a Steve-free room as they sat at the kitchen bar, fighting over the last bite of an omelet—their assassin reflexes being put to good use. Bruce, who had arrived with Thor yesterday, was also there, pouring himself an unhealthy amount of coffee.

Tony broke into a grin at the sight of his science buddy and began to do the same, "Good morning everyone!" He eyed Bruce's coffee and set out pouring himself his own cup. "Ah coffee. The sweet balm by which we shall accomplish today's tasks."

Clint, who had won the battle against Natasha, and was chewing the omelet victoriously, shouted out, "Pour me a cup, would you?"

"Black?" Bruce questioned.

"Yep!"

"Like his soul" Nat finished, still bitter about losing the omelet. Tony was still smiling, it was moments like this that he got to enjoy so rarely as Steve was so often at the center of the group. Sure it was a lonely life, and he desperately wanted to learn how to get along with Steve, but Tony knew that Steve hated him, and he didn't want to risk getting into another fight again.

And Steve wasn't Tony's only demon. In every group setting Tony was reminded of the vision Wanda had made him see—everyone dead because of Tony. It wasn't something he needed to be reminded of frequently. So, Tony found himself hanging out with his friends less and less.

Tony took a huge gulp of coffee while Nat began an interrogation, "We haven't seen you in a while Tony, are you doing okay? How have you been?"

Tony broke away from his thoughts and set his mug down. "As long as there is coffee in the world, how bad could things be?"

Nat just rolled her eyes. Though she was used to Tony never giving anyone real answers, it could still be irritating. "A real answer please" she demanded.

Tony grew sober, his eyes became serious and widened, "That was a real answer Nat." He nodded slowly for emphasis. "You should never joke about something as serious as coffee. Ever." Tony and Bruce stifled back a grin.

Clint finished his own cup and set it down with a bang. "How can you be so sarcastic and so right at the same time Tony?" He wasn't hiding his own grin; Clint loved how Tony could get under Nat's skin with his sarcastic comments and answers.

Tony shrugged and tried to look modest: "I'm just talented like that." He poured more coffee into everyone's cups and set out to make a fresh pot. As the others carried on the conversation Tony's mind focused on his menial task, it was better than focusing on how tired the short interaction with his friends had made him.

Yes, Tony was having fun joking around with them all, but it took a lot of energy to pretend that he wasn't exhausted from lack of sleep or weak from a diet based of coffee, granola bars and more coffee.

And every time Tony was with the team, he was always reminded of how they had all fought each other. He was always reminded of the way he had come home from Siberia to an empty tower, feeling abandoned by the ones he had loved the most.

No, Tony didn't blame them for how he had felt, but the memory was seared into his mind.

Tony excused himself and made his way down to the lab. He was lost in his own thoughts when he bumped right into a sweat-soaked Steve Rogers—back early from his run.

"Jesus!" Steve exclaimed, just as startled as Tony. They both jumped back in surprise, though Tony did so with more commitment.

Tony's heart was racing and his knees were wobbling, but somehow he managed to only look caught off guard—not terrified. _Really Steve? Of course you doesn't follow your strict schedule the one time I need you to._ Still, Tony replied without missing a beat: "Not Jesus, Steve. Actually, it's just me. Although I've been told the resemblance is startling."

As Tony usually left the room whenever Steve entered, this was a rare and happy meeting for Steve, and he wanted to make it last. He tried to give Tony some space but he was so shocked at seeing him at all, that in doing so he tripped clumsily over his own feet.

Tony's hands shot out to steady the super-soldier, surprising both himself and Steve. As soon as Steve was upright, Tony's brain caught up to his body and he was scrambling away, trying to move quickly, but casually, towards the exit.

Steve called after him, "Thanks for the rescue, Tony"

"Everyone needs a hobby." Tony shrugged and risked turning around now that he was at a safer distance from Steve. He could barely hear himself over the pounding of his own heart.

Clint decided to interrupt their awkward exchange, granting a small mercy to the two men who were dancing around each other on thin ice. "I thought your hobby was preening?!"

Toney flipped him the bird and a charming grin. "Two hobbies," he conceded and then fled the room. Steve just looked at the others helplessly, they all shrugged and went back to their own tasks.

Steve was left alone with a decision to make: Follow Tony and demand to have a real conversation, or go another day wondering if they would ever mend their broken friendship.

Steve took a deep breath and made a decision.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony was back in his workshop, eyes closed and taking deep breaths; he was rattling off the Fibonacci sequence in a feeble attempt to calm his mind. Though he had practically sprinted away from Steve, Tony realized he could actually count the interaction as a win—Tony hadn't had a flash back or anything.

It was a low bar to have set, but a small victory was a victory nonetheless.

"Boss, Steve is coming your way, should I initiate a lockdown protocol?" And just like that, all the time that Tony had spent steadying his breathing was for nothing. His breath returned to rapid and shallow intakes.

He croaked out a yes and Friday locked all of the workshop doors just as Steve came into view, _Looking as perfect as ever,_ Tony thought. He slapped on a carefree smile and pretended to be surprised at Steve's presence. He was already feeling calmer now that he knew Steve could only come in if Tony allowed it. "I wonder what he wants" Tony muttered, his curiosity peaking.

Steve rapped his knuckles on the glass door. "Patch him through, Friday."

Steve's voice crackled over the sound system, making Steve sound like he was right next to tony. "Uh, hi Tony." Steve sounded unsure of himself, "Can I talk to you?"

Tony got up and walked slowly to the glass door. He stopped a few feet away and locked his eyes with Steve's. "Sure thing, Cap." His words sounded more lighthearted than his thoughts.

When it was clear that Tony wasn't going to open the door, Steve's whole persona slumped as a wave of sadness overtook him. _What happened to him that he feels the need to hide away all the time?_ Instead of asking Tony that, he simply said,"Can you do something for me?"

Tony was taken aback at the request, but decided to play it safe with some sarcasm—his usual first line of defense. "I usually don't do what I'm told, but I might do what you want if you ask nicely." He plastered on a grin to hide his true emotions.

Steve noticed Tony's smile, that had come out as more of a grimace, and the effort that went behind it _. A fake smile, but he is beautiful nonetheless._ Steve offered a weak smile in return and asked Tony something he was desperate to know: "Can you tell me that you're okay? Honestly?"

 _No_ Tony thought. "Yes." Tony answered. As if things were that simple.

Steve just stared at Tony, his eyes held sad disbelief. Tony sighed and threw his hands out in exasperation. "I'm fine Steve. Nothing here is out of the ordinary: I work too much, I sleep too little. I invent and I repeat. Nothing I haven't been doing for years."

Steve's eyes narrowed, trying to discern if Tony was being sincere. "I can't tell if you're lying or joking."

"And I can't tell if you're an idiot or an idiot."

Steve wasn't amused."Does it get tiring?"

"What?"

"Always thinking you're right."

Tony smiled. "No, not really. It's other people not realizing I'm right that gets tiring."

Their words hung in the air heavily, despite the seemingly light banter. Each man was surrounded by a fog of emotions, each too stubborn to give in and just say how they felt.

Instead, Tony sought something else. "It's my turn to ask a question, Cap."

Before Steve could reply Tony was already speaking, "Why didn't you tell me?" He didn't have to tell Steve he was talking about his parent's death.

"I didn't want to hurt you." Steve looked ashamed, as if he was admitting a weakness. "I needed to protect you."

"Better terrible truths than kind lies." Tony shot back quickly, but Steve only nodded slowly, avoiding Tony's hard gaze. His response made Tony feel bad for Steve.

If anyone knew how trying to protect people could lead to damage, it was Tony.

A charged silence encompassed the both of them. They both studied one another while avoiding making eye contact. Each man trying to figure out what the other wanted. Each man not knowing what they wanted themselves.

Steve's eyes had fallen. _He looks like a wounded puppy,_ Tony thought. _I should put him out of his misery._ Tony granted Steve some pity: "I don't hate you."

Steve's head snapped up, relief flooding his expression. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that—"

"I wish I could hate you," Tony interrupted. His voice was light for what he was saying, his mouth curved in an unconcerned half grimace, his eyes sick with misery. "I want to hate you. I try to hate you. It would be so much easier if I did hate you. Sometimes I think I do hate you and then I see you and I—"

Steve's hands had grown numb with their grip on the hem of his shirt. "And you what?"

"What do you think?" Tony shook his head. "I can't forget our past. And I can't look at you without remembering everything. Every time I'm with you it's like banging my head on awall, except at least if I were banging my head on a wall, I'd be able to make myself stop."

Steve's lips trembled so violently that he found it hard to speak. "Do you think it's easy for me?" he demanded.

Tony cut him off before he could continue: "Easy for you?" his exasperation grew. "Because of you, I can't trust the people I care about not to hurt me." His voice dropped in volume: "And I'm not sure I can trust myself not to hurt them, either."

Steve's eyes widened. "I never knew."

But Tony was turning away. _How could you know? You abandoned me._ "Steve, I think it's time for you to go. Let's just stay out of each other's way. It will be easier for everyone." His heart broke a little more with each word, solitude filling each crack.

 _I fear being alone more than anything else. So why do I do this? Why do I push away the people I love? What is so very wrong with me?_

Steve wouldn't give up that easily. "Since I've met you, everything I've done has been in part because of you. I can't untie myself from you, Tony—not my heart or my blood or my mind or any other part of me. And I don't want to."

Tony almost broke down right there. _I don't want you to either, Steve._ He wanted to cry out " _Help me Steve."_ He wanted to scream, " _Don't let me do this to myself."_ Tony turned so that he was facing Steve, trying to speak words that wouldn't come.

Because Tony had only been hurt every time he opened his heart to someone. The only way to survive, was to erase his emotions. So he folded them away, one by one. His sorrow turned to anger and then to ice-cold fury. His soul curled in on itself. He was gone. He was truly gone.

"You had no problem leaving me behind before, Steve."

Steve flinched. "I know I screwed up Tony. But I thought I was doing what was right." His words were coming quickly now, frantically searching for a way in to Tony's heart. "I really thought I was doing the right thing, Tony. You've got to believe me." He was practically begging now. "And I may have been blind to any type of compromise, but—"

"May have?" Tony asked incredulously, voice rising in frustration. "I tried to talk to you! I tried to help you!" He took a deep breath and lowered his volume. "We were supposed to protect people—together. We were supposed to have each other's backs. And you threw that all away for one man."

Steve opened his mouth to yell, to make Tony understand that he had only been fighting for what he believed in. That he had learned and knew better now. But the words didn't come, and part of Steve was thankful: he didn't want another fight.

He was so tired of fighting.

Steve had come down here for a peace offering, but it was quickly spinning out of control. He needed to leave. "Fine," Steve said with a weary shrug. "Make me your villain."

Tony watched as Steve's defeated form climbed up the stairs. He kept replaying Steve's words in his head: " _I thought I was doing what was right."_

The words echoed through the empty space that Tony isolated himself in. _Wasn't that what we were all doing? Fighting for something we believed in, for somewhat we thought was the best way through a bad situation?_

"But what is right anymore?" Tony muttered out loud, hopeless confusion tore through his thoughts. His left arm was aching and he tried to cling onto the pain as a way to stay anchored in the present. Instead, his mind flew back to the first time he had met Cap:

 _Tony had once been fascinated by the legend of Captain America—all the stories he'd heard from his dad before Tony had met him. Now, Tony felt that same sense of fascination returning. Now, he would be meeting the man in person, and though he would never show it, he was scared and nervous._

Tony shook his head harshly, Tony did not want to relive the moment where his childhood hopes were crushed. He had grown up idolizing Captain America as the role model Howard never was. And despite realizing that his childhood hero thought little of him—despite everything they had been through—Tony still wanted Steve. Still needed him.

And it scared Tony more than anything before. Because he couldn't understand why.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony had resumed working in his shop after Steve's visit, and had lost track of time as he tinkered away. His head perked up when he heard an unusual sound coming from the air vents. The metal groaned and Tony thought he heard an accompanying "oomph" with it.

"I thought spies were supposed to be sneaky." Tony called up to the archer in the air vent. "You'd better lay off the donuts or you'll be out of a job soon, Clint."

In the best retort Clint could offer, he kicked out the vent's screen, gracefully flipped out of the vent, and landed upright on his feet. It was impressive to say the least. "You we're saying?" he grinned devilishly at Tony.

Tony just rolled his eyes and resumed working, not wanting to feed the other man's ego. "Did you need something Legolas?"

Clint groaned at the nickname but replied, "I was roaming around and heard Steve talking to Nat about you and thought that it was only fair that I came down here to gossip about him with you."

"What a friend." Tony said sarcastically. In truth, he didn't know if he wanted to talk about Steve or not. He was such a confusing topic for Tony.

Clint seemed to recognize this and started off with an easy question: "Have you tried talking to each other?"

Tony just snorted. "Yeah; once." Clint wasn't impressed. "We've mainly tried punching each other in the face repeatedly." Tony reminisced on the events of Siberia and the airport. "What? You don't think that will solve the problem this time?"

Clint laughed darkly, "I didn't realize that solved the problem the first time." They both settled in to an easy silence, thoughts swirling around them.

Tony spoke first, a quiet admission: "I miss him," he whispered, unable to hold Clint's gaze. "I miss who I thought he was."

"He's still the same guy, Tony. Stubborn. Righteous. Brave. Sensitive. It's just that sometimes his best traits turn into his faults."

"So do I love him or hate him for it?" This was the only question that mattered to Tony. He was being torn in two separate ways—being ripped at the seams. His heart had already decided the answer, but his mind had other ideas.

"The two aren't mutually exclusive. Where there is love, there is often also hate. They can exist side by side."

Tony let the answer soak in. "That might be a little too deep for me, buddy." Tony lightly joked to avoid a real reply.

Clint sensed that Tony was losing strength to carry on the conversation so he made for an exit—opting to use the door like a normal person. He turned over his shoulder and called to Tony: "We can't choose who we love, Tony."

The mechanic's eyes shot up and locked onto Clint's. "I know. But I wish, more than anything, that we could."

Steve had given up on sleep a while ago. He was replaying his conversation with Tony over and over again in his mind. Each time changing his responses and actions in the way that one does when looking back on an unfortunate conversation.

Yet he still couldn't figure out a way that would get Tony to open up to him. Steve sighed and made his way up to the common room, hoping he could get some relief with a change of scenery.

It seemed like he wasn't the only one plagued by another sleepless night: Natasha was sitting on the couch sharpening a set of knives ritually and methodically. She didn't say anything when Steve sat next to her, sensing that he needed to be the one to voice his troubles.

They sat in a comfortable silence, the only sound the soft scrape of metal on metal, a soothing cadence that seemed to lull Steve into a calmer state. He took a deep breath. "I went to talk to Tony today."

"I assume that didn't go well."

Steve chuckled darkly. "No." He paused for a long moment, trying to figure out a way to voice his thoughts. "I didn't want it to go the way it did."

"It's not intentions that matter. It's actions. We are what we do and say, not what we intend to." Steve had a feeling she was talking about more than just a talk with Tony.

"Bucky was the only thing I had left." Steve's voice was weak. It was a better excuse than most, but an excuse nonetheless.

"I know Steve. We all know. You both have had more than enough suffering." She set down her knife, and picked up another. Her eyes locked on Steve's. "But you have to admit you didn't exactly go about things the right way. Did you?"

Steve flinched. It was one thing to think those words to himself. It was another thing entirely to have someone tell it to him straight. Steve had screwed up.

"No. I didn't." His words were strong. _But Tony had too. I wasn't the only one._ Steve automatically felt ashamed of his thoughts. He needed to forgive himself, and he needed to forgive Tony. "So what do I do Nat?"

"Do you love him?" The question came out of the blue. Natasha was not one to avoid the elephant in the room.

His eyes widened, startled by her bluntness. _Love?_ Steve was a man ripped out of time: girls never talked to him before the serum, and after he had been busy saving the world. Sure he had been kissed by Peggy, but that was the extent of his experience. Would he even know what love felt like?

"How would I know?" he responded feebly.

"You'd know."

Steve leaned back into the couch, closed his eyes and thought. "I love the way he is always moving, how he's always working on some project, or thinking up a new design. I love the way his jaw sets when faced with a problem. And the way he can brighten up an entire room with laughter. And so much more."

A light smile pulled at the corners of Steve's lips as he thought about all of the beautiful parts of Tony. But as he thought longer, it began to fade: "I don't love the way he thinks his way is always the best. Or the way that he treats everything as a joke. Or how—"

"You cannot pick and choose what parts of him to love, Steve." Her voice held a certain coldness to it. Her words were spoken with a force that implored Steve to listen, to understand.

Nat had stopped her sharpening, and the silence that overcame them was deafening. The silence shaming Steve along with Nat's words.

 _She's right, of course.I either love Tony, faults and all, or I don't. So which is it?_ His heart knew the answer but his mind did not like it.

"Why don't you view his stubbornness as bravery? Or his arrogance as confidence? Can't you see his jokes are a line of defense? That his show-off tendencies are his search for approval." Nat turned to face Steve. "Things are rarely black and white, Steve."

She gathered her knives and sharpening tools, and folded them into a leather bag, worn soft with years of use. Standing, she gave Steve one last piece of advice: "You left him, Steve. But you took something too. Whatever it was that made him the Tony Stark we know and love is gone."

Nat turned to leave, calling over her shoulder: "It's up to you to get it back."


	6. Memory

Disclaimer Note: I'm not sure which fic it was from, but I got the idea of the dream from another Stony fic. If someone recognizes it and knows the fic, let me know so I can give due credit! Also I saw a tweet that gave me the idea for the photograph. So really this chapter is just a short inspired work haha.

Tony was used to having nightmares: there was always something troubling his mind. So whatever terror of the past Tony's mind decided to focus on became his nightly burden; varying between having his arc reactor being ripped out by Obie, falling from the sky in New York, Whiplash, Ultron, Jarvis' death, Siberia and more.

Needless to say, there was a lot of material to work with. For Tony, there was no greater pain or punishment than memory.

No matter what the nightmare was, Tony always felt helpless. Helpless to protect himself and helpless to protect the ones he loved. It was a cold feeling. One that seeped deep into his mind and body. A pollution that affected him long after he had woken up.

Tonight was no different:

 _Tony was a kid again, back in his old bedroom, wearing a Captain America t-shirt and boxers. He was lying in bed, surrounded by various tools and mechanical parts, tinkering around with a robot he was trying to build, when he broke into a triumphant grin. He had made a break through._

 _Young Tony jumped out of bed, and ran towards the door. Small legs carried Tony quickly to his father's lab, as he was eager to share the innovation with his dad. He knew not to bother Howard unless it was really important, but Tony had just created his first functioning robot, and he just knew that his dad would be proud._

 _The keypad to his father's door loomed above him—impenetrable to anyone who wasn't a Stark. His father had tried to make it impenetrable only to himself, but Tony had always figured out a way in, much to Howard's dismay._

 _He stretched on his tip-toes, and his hand reached out to play with the code. Within seconds, the door had swung open and Tony was grinning with pride. Howard's head shot up in surprise, and he looked down at the young Tony with glazed eyes, a glass of whisky in one hand. In an instant, Howard was in front of Tony, anger clearing his expression._

 _His hand swung out hard, striking Tony to the floor._

Tony's eyes snapped open. His heart raced. "Friday, lights!" Brightness flooded the room, and Tony squinted, fighting to keep his eyes open. He didn't want to lose the fact that he was in his room—none of his younger self's Captain America posters to be seen.

He checked the clock on his nightstand: 2 am. He had gotten three hours of sleep. _Not too bad,_ he congratulated himself and swung out of bed. There was no use of trying to fall back asleep, it was always impossible after his nightly terror.

Tony stripped off his sweat soaked shirt and hopped into a cold shower, trying to fully wake up and chase away his unpleasant childhood memories. He lathered and rinsed his hair, and scrubbed his body clean—wincing when he got to his chest.

Despite a month passing since his fight against Steve and Bucky, Tony's body was still a tapestry of purple and black welts and bruises, especially his chest, where they surrounded rough scars where the arc reactor used to be, and a new scar. This one in the shape of a half moon, marking where Steve's shield had cut through Tony's armor, digging metal from the suit deep into his skin. He cleaned the area gingerly but quickly, not wanting to view or touch his mutilated chest longer than he had to.

Each burst of pain was a reminder that he did not need.

Tony shut the water down and dried off, walking out of the bathroom while avoiding his reflection in the mirror. _If people could see me the way I see myself - if they could live in my memories - would anyone love me?_

A disturbing answer to his own question hung over Tony's head, and he hurriedly chased the thought away. Wrapping the towel around his waist Tony walked into his room and pulled on a fresh shirt and a pair of oversized sweats. He made his way to the window and stared out at the city below, his persistent thoughts turning to all of the bad moments of his life, conveniently ignoring all the good.

It was hard, growing up with a father who cared more about a frozen soldier than his own son, but Tony had always admired Howard no matter what he had put Tony through. Howard was rarely home, either out searching for the esteemed Captain America, or in his shop inventing, but growing up, Tony had merely wanted his dad's approval.

It was still a mystery to Tony why the opinion of his father had mattered to him so much. He supposed he should have grown up resenting Howard and Steve. One for not loving him enough, the other for stealing any love Howard had to offer.

But how could he blame them? All Steve had done was sacrificed himself. All Howard had wanted to do was save his friend. Though he was certainly bitter, Tony couldn't help but admire their resilience. No matter how hard he tried, it just wasn't in him to hate someone.

Tony tore his gaze away from the city, and walked to his dresser. He slowly knelt down to the bottom drawer and pulled it open. Hesitantly, as if he was afraid of someone walking in and seeing what he was about to do, he drew out a photograph tucked away at the bottom of the drawer.

Tony stood up and sat on the bed, gazing long and hard at the photograph showing him at age 9, on the night of Halloween. He was dressed in a perfect replica of the Captain America suit—after all, his father had designed them both. Howard was standing behind him, a hand on Tony's shoulder, looking pleased that his son and his hero were merging for a night.

Though he went as Captain America every Halloween, in the photo, Tony was grinning uncontrollably. It was the one night he could get his father to really look at him—even if it was because he was wearing a mask. Not wanting to break the spell those nights, Tony had tried his best to act like the great Captain America would have. That was something he did every day—pretend to be like his idol: Captain America.

If he could be like Cap, then maybe his dad would want to hang out with him more. If he could be like Cap, maybe Tony would be the center of the stories Howard told, instead of Steve.

So every day, Tony gave it his all to be helpful, strong, and brave—everything that Captain America was.

A hero.

And then he had met Steve, and he had been told to stop pretending. That he wasn't a hero, and that he never would be.

Tony's thoughts turned bitter the longer he stared at the picture. The photo showed Tony's small hand resting on the uniform's star in the middle of his chest, proud to be representing both America and Steve.

Tony reached up to his own chest, mirroring the action of his younger self. Only now, he was touching the scar where his hero's shield had cut him deep. Deep into his heart.

Tony got up and threw the picture under his bed. The glass shattered, but Tony didn't care.


	7. Fixer

Two weeks had passed since the team had moved in, and Tony had spent the entirety of the last week in his lab. It had been a rough, his days plagued with flashbacks and nightmares; harsh thoughts, and cruel demons continuously eating at his mind.

He was currently skipping another meal with the team, opting instead for some instant oatmeal, or what he liked to call "sawdust." At least he was eating though, he had worked through all of his meals the day before. _See,_ he told himself, _I don't need someone telling me when to sleep and eat. I'll do it eventually._

It wasn't that he didn't want to hang out with everyone, but Tony was an emotional wreck—unsure of his feelings for Steve, and distrustful of himself to be around his friends. He wanted to keep them all safe, and because Tony felt like a TNT stick lit on both ends, safe meant keeping away from everyone who could get hurt by collateral damage.

Sure it was lonely, but Tony had convinced himself that it was better this way.

He had spent a lifetime practicing, becoming who he had to be to survive. Hiding in plain sight, always acting, always playing a part. There were times when Tony feared that he'd lose himself—his true self—in the haze of the façade. Maybe he already had. _But that fear doesn't matter to anyone besides myself._

Tony sighed and choked down another bite of his hearty breakfast, and tried to push past his pain, into other thoughts. In his week of isolation, he had been doing a lot of thinking. As always, he was trapped in his mind. Between inventions, nightmares, memories, worries, and goals, Tony's mind was constantly churning.

Recently his thoughts had been centered on Iron Man.

It wasn't in an egotistical way: he wasn't reveling in Iron Man's greatest moments. Not even in an industrial way: he wasn't trying to build more suits. No, Tony was thinking of the big picture: how Iron Man had affected himself, and others.

The suits had been a wakeup call—taking him from warmonger to life-saver. His cave creation was a blessing; the miniature arc reactor one of his greatest achievements.

But then Tony had watched as Obie ripped it from his chest. Then he was being poisoned to death. Then he was attacked by Whiplash. Portals opened up. Aliens invaded. Pepper was abducted; his house blown up. Ultron created, Jarvis killed. Sokovia destroyed, Avengers dismembered.

Tony was growing nauseous the longer he thought about it. Because hanging over every one of those memories, was an even scarier vision—one of the future. One that featured all of his friends, dead; their cold bodies, grotesque and lifeless, piled upon each other.

Iron Man had been powerless to stop it. He wasn't enough _._ He and his suit, had failed.

The suit had been his way of protecting people, but the more Tony thought about it, the more he realized that Iron Man was at the center of almost all his issues. Once people had seen the tech he had created, they tried to replicate it—or steal it from his body.

But Tony _was_ Iron Man. As he had told many people, many times, you couldn't separate the two. _But maybe that's the problem,_ Tony's racing thoughts came to an abrupt halt, honed in on that idea _._

He wasn't a hero, and destruction followed his feeble attempt to be one.

Tony stood, determination in his eyes. It took only a split second for life to go horribly wrong; it took a lot more to make things go right. And to fix the mess that was his life, Tony needed a thousand things to go right.

The distance from one bit of luck to the next felt as great as the distance across oceans to Tony. His eyes hardened and he stood up, tall and strong. In that moment, Tony came to a decision. He was done feeling sorry for himself. He was done feeling helpless.

 _But will bridge that distance, again and again, until I win. I will not fail._ In that ocean of grief, maybe there were islands of grace, moments in time where Tony could learn to remember what was left rather than all that had been lost.

He would fight to find those times, because Tony desperately wanted to be whole again, to feel like he wasn't a danger to the team, to mend his relationship with Steve. But he couldn't do that until he fixed himself—rebuilt the man that he used to be.

And that was who he really was. Not a man in a mask, or a sorrowful backstory. Not a forgotten son or a self-assured jokester. Not just a genius, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist.

No, he was much, much more.

He was Tony Stark: a confident, selfless man. A mechanic. A builder and a fixer. _And I'll be damned if I can't fix myself._ Tony pulled out his phone and dialed. The man on the other end picked up on the first ring and Tony didn't give him the chance to say hi, "We need to talk. Now. Face to face"

Less than an hour later, Tony was storming into one of SHEILD's meeting rooms. Fury was standing there, intimidating as ever, and typing on his phone heatedly. He nodded his head, indicating Tony should start, despite the phone's distraction.

"I've had a realization, Nick."

"This should be good."

"The fight between Steve and me—"

"The media's calling it a Civil War." Fury called out the title with a laugh; Tony paled at the more than accurate description.

"—Civil War, whatever. It's impacting work. It's impacting the team."

Fury finally looked up from his phone. "Tony…" Nick said in an unsure voice, not knowing what was coming next.

"So I've decided to remove myself from the Avengers. Effective immediately." His words kept pouring out, thinking that if he stopped talking, he'd lose his courage and take everything back: "I was only a consultant anyway, and you've got plenty of superheroes to protect the world even without Iron Man on your side. I won't give you, or anyone, the suits, of course. But I would refrain from using them, and I know you—"

"Are you done yet" Fury interrupted. Exasperation sharp in his voice, whittling away at Tony's certainty.

Fury started to talk, but Tony wasn't listening. He would be leaving this room as a civilian and nothing else. Iron Man had caused everyone nothing but trouble, and he couldn't take it anymore. _Sometimes, the only way to set things right is to do what is difficult._

"You haven't heard a word of what I've just said have you?" Fury said in astonishment.

"Sorry what was that?" Tony countered. He was on autopilot, which happened to be defensive sarcasm. Tony tried to focus. "Nick, there is no way out of this but my way. I already signed the papers. And even if you shred them, I'll just stop reporting for missions. Want to detain me for disobedience? Fine. That will really make it hard to put on the suit."

Tony's voice was ice as he finished his speech, "There is no scenario where I come out of this as an Avenger. I'm not Iron Man anymore." _I'm barely Tony Stark._

Fury looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and anger. It was an expression Tony had gotten too used to seeing. Fury sounded tired when he spoke next, "I expected more from you, Stark."

Tony wished he had a quick one liner to shut Fury up; something that was witty or suave, and would enable Tony to laugh through the pain. But the truth weighed down words: "It's not the first time I've been a disappointment." Tony turned to leave. "And I'm sure it won't be the last."

He left without waiting for Nick's response.

Fury's eye twitched, the movement betraying his usually unreadable face. He was genuinely surprised at Tony's admission. Things were clearly worse than he had anticipated they would be after the Civil War.

He pulled out his phone and made a call. Tony wouldn't listen to Fury.

But maybe he would listen to his captain.


	8. Sandwich

Nothing had blown up lately.

 _It's a good thing,_ Steve reminded himself constantly. _Things aren't supposed to blow up. It's a good thing that there are no catastrophes for the Avengers to fix._

But in the back of his mind there was a dark voice that told Steve he was nothing without a war to fight. That he was nothing if he wasn't out there saving someone. Because Steve was a soldier, _and what was a soldier without a fight?_ Steve pushed the thought away, ashamed that he would think something like that.

With no bad guys to kill or evil plan to thwart, Steve was left with too much time on his hands, and too much time to think about Tony. It was far from productive—and Steve hated it. Clint had dubbed him "Mother Hen" since he was always helping other people and running errands for them all.

The nickname had bothered him at first until he had realized it was kind of true. But so what? Taking care of people was what Steve did best. And how was he supposed to know what he liked? He had grown up too poor to afford any real hobbies besides sketching, and it wasn't like he could go paint the town with his old buddies.

Steve clenched his jaw and shoved his emotions away, choosing instead to focus on the meal he was preparing. He had tried cooking as a distraction when he had first gotten to the tower, and had found that he wasn't half bad at it.

Team dinner's had been his most recent hallmark. It combined his goal of team bonding with his love of all things uniting—nothing brought the team together like the smell of a barbecue. The dinners had been working marvelously too. Everyone seemed to be regaining their trust in each other—everyone but Tony.

Steve began chopping up lettuce with a bit more force than required. As usual, Tony was the exception _._ The billionaire always seemed to exempt himself from everything. Team dinner's included. _Too important to come out of his lab and spend some time with us._

He stopped chopping, and sighed. The lettuce had become nothing but mush in his frustration.

Steve just couldn't understand Tony. The man was arrogant and immature; too sarcastic and self-assured for his own good. But he was also caring and thoughtful, a genius and a friend. One moment he'd act like he was the most important member of the team, but then spend an entire week working on an improvement for someone's gear. He'd insult Steve to his face, but would put himself in harm's way to save him in a battle.

It had been this way since the first time they had met.

Steve had looked forward to meeting Tony since the second Fury told him that Howard had a son. Tony would be his link to the past, a familiar friend in a new world. But that dream had shattered the instant he met the man. Sure, Tony was charming and good-looking, he certainly knew how to have a good time, but he was careless and arrogant. Never looking out for the little guy.

He put shame on the Stark name, and Howard deserved much more.

But despite the disappointment Tony caused him, Steve couldn't help but be intrigued by the man. He had tried not to be. He desperately wanted to ignore how his stomach fluttered every time he saw Tony. How his heart clenched with Tony's self-deprecating jokes or life threatening actions. But nothing had worked. He was in love with Tony—no matter how mad the other man could make him.

And it scared him. Because he didn't know why.

Steve's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hungry Avengers filling the room. Clint and Natasha appeared, their voices bright, and their laughter echoing off of the walls, lightening Steve's mood.

Their faces fell when they saw that Steve had only made one sandwich. "Who's the sandwich for Steve?" Clint inquired, wanting to know if he could snatch up the meal.

Steve was hesitant to respond, knowing he would get hell: "Um…Tony"

"A lunch date? How cute!" Clint at Nat fist bumped in childish glee.

Steve's cheeks grew pink. "I don't—what?...People need to eat Clint."

Steve had been putting his mother hen and chef skills to use by fixing Tony lunch. He hadn't seen the mechanic since two nights ago and was starting to worry about him. _From a strictly team-management point of view,_ he reminded himself.

Thor and Bruce rounded the corner, and took in the scene around them. Thor couldn't help but comment: "Ah! The good Captain is blushing!" He boomed with a grin. "Are we talking about Tony?"

Steve started to protest. "I can't stand Tony, he's—"

"—arrogant and narcissistic" they all finished together. Apparently Steve had been saying that for a while now. Clint continued the assault, "Come on Cap, even though you two _think_ that you hate each other, everyone else knows that you both have the hots for each other."

Steve groaned, it was obviously doing no good to avoid his crush, so he embraced it head on. "Fine, you're right, despite all that we've been through I like the guy—I want to know more. But he's Tony Stark, and he hates me—there's no way he'd ever feel the same."

Nat scoffed and the others shook their heads—"Steve you are so oblivious."

"I am not!"

Bruce piped in, "I bet you haven't noticed how you always light up when he enters the room, and how you blush when he catches you staring?" He took Steve's look of astonishment as a "no" and continued on, 'Sure, Tony thinks you're staring at him and judging him, but we all know you're just thinking he's cute."

Steve was speechless, but the others kept talking. It was like they had all come here for the explicit purpose of convincing Steve that he and Tony were meant to be. His eyes narrowed as he saw the mischievous glint in all of their expression. _I'd bet that's exactly what they planned._

Nat pushed onward. "Steve, I can hear his breath change every time he sees you."

"You…you can?"

"It catches every time."

"Like he's never seen you before." Clint confirmed.

Despite his best attempts at hiding it, a grin broke across Steve's face. Thor clapped his shoulder and the others smiled.Steve took a deep breath and confessed: "Tony drives me insane guys. He's the scariest, most clever, bravest person I know, and sometimes I can't think straight because I'm trying so hard to keep up."

Everyone looked at him in a combination of cheerfulness and impatience. "God you're an idiot" Clint told him. Steve just looked at him in confusion. "You should be telling Tony that, not us."

Steve countered, in his own impatience: "It's not that easy! Every time I'm near him, something just gets in the way." The group looked at him and chimed in their thoughts:

"Raging hormones?"

"Giant egos?"

"Your blinding righteousness?"

"His daddy issues?"

The team tried to hold in their laughter—and failed miserably.

 _Daddy issues?_ _Blinding righteousness?_ Steve shrugged off the comments with a chuckle. They were right, of course. There really wasn't any reason that he shouldn't just tell Tony how he felt. If Tony rejected him, then fine—their situation couldn't get much worse. _But if he feels the same way…_ A tentative smile formed on his face as Steve thought of the wonderful possibilities.

"Okay, I'll do it."

The others looked at him in confusion. Bruce spoke up for all of them, "And what are you doing exactly?"

"I'm going to tell him. I'm going to tell him how I feel."

Everyone grinned in excitement and went on their merry way, confirming Steve's suspicions that they had only come to the kitchen for some type of intervention. When Steve looked up, only Clint remained.

"More advice, Barton?"

"Just a warning, Steve." Clint's tone had grown more serious, as if what he was about to say carried more weight than the whole preceding conversation. "I talked to Tony about you the other day, and he's not in a good place."

"Oh" Steve's voice was quiet. _I guess that means I won't be telling Tony how I feel._

As if reading Steve's thoughts, Clint shook his head. "The way he was talking about you, the way he looks at you. I got it then. He loves you, and it is killing him. He won't get over you, Steve, he can't."

Though Steve felt as if he should be rejoicing that someone could truly confirm Tony loved him, instead he felt a deep sadness. _I turned his love into pain. I did that._ Steve nodded to Clint, and the archer left the room, leaving Steve with his thoughts.

Suddenly, his mind cleared. Like Nat had told him, it was up to Steve to get Tony's trust back, and to show him that he deserved to be loved. Steve was going to fix things. Maybe even have that lunch date. He would make things right.

At least, that was the plan, until the phone rang. Until Fury told him about Iron Man.

Until Steve saw red, and stormed down to set Tony straight, sandwich forgotten.


	9. Ch 9: Confrontation

_It's been a good day._

Tony was sitting in his shop, staring through a computer screen, not truly aware of his surroundings. _It's been a good day,_ he repeated. He was repeating the phrase with two goals: to congratulate and convince himself.

He had given up Iron Man. He had started to fix himself.

He had given up Iron Man. He had abandoned a piece of himself.

Beginning with his father and ending with Steve, Tony had been left feeling abandoned too many times in his life. Loneliness and fear from Wanda's terrible vision. Loneliness and pain when the Avengers split. Loneliness and heartbreak when Steve left him.

Tony was all too familiar with abandonment.

He couldn't help but wonder if it was his fault. Surely he had done something wrong if people kept leaving him? Surely he deserved his lonely existence. _But if no one in the entire world cared about you, did you really exist at all?_

Tony clenched his jaw. This was the type of thinking he was trying to avoid. There was nothing wrong with him. He'd made mistakes, he had his faults, but so did everyone else. Tony hoped with every fiber in his being that in a few days it would start to sink in that he wasn't endangering himself or others anymore by being Iron Man.

Maybe then he could start to feel truly comfortable with the team. Maybe then he could mend his friendship with Steve.

A tentative smile danced across his face, but it was quickly wiped away when Steve's booming voice interrupted his thoughts. "Tony!" He spit the name out in disgust. "Let me into this workshop. Right now." He was red in the face. Anger, resentment, and sadness resonated off of him.

Tony spun around on his chair to face the man. His heart was pounding, but his face showed no emotion. He had too many years of pretending behind him to crack now. The only sign of his discomfort was his leg, that was bouncing up and down repeatedly. He hoped Steve would chalk it up to too much coffee or would be too angry to notice.

He was at least comforted by the knowledge that Steve couldn't enter unless he gave FRIDAY the command to let Steve in. "Now why would I want to do that Cap?" _A valid question_ , he thought.

Steve took some deep breaths, trying to clear his mind of anger. Though he was furious, and wanted Tony to know how selfish he was being, he didn't want this to escalate to a fight. Though he lowered his volume, he continued to glare at Tony: "Because you need to explain to me face to face, why I just got a call from Nick Fury saying that you quit the Avengers."

 _Damn._ Tony conceded, "Fair point."

As the leader of the Avengers Steve had a right to an explanation. But Tony had to decide if Steve had a right to the truth, or the lame excuse he had told Fury. He pictured the photograph of his younger self in the uniform and came to a decision. The Steve that he had grown up admiring would understand. He would be proud that Tony was protecting himself and others.

He would see how Tony, as Iron Man, was at the center of all chaos. That by quitting, Tony was protecting everyone.

So Tony decided to tell Steve the truth. How, for the first time in a long time, Tony felt as if he were doing something right. And maybe, just maybe, he and Steve could begin anew.

He took a few own deep breaths and gave FRIDAY the cue to let Steve in.

Steve stormed in, and Tony knew he had made a terrible mistake. "I know that you hate me Tony, but I thought you were above this. You have the capability to protect people and you're throwing it away over an argument with me?"

 _It's not about you Steve. It's about me not being able to go a day without thinking of all the horrible things that I've done and all of the horrible things that have happened to me._ "But who was going to protect me?"

Steve was too angry to hear the defeat and embarrassment in Tony's voice, and instead continued his assault. "You sacrificed being Iron Man so you could avoid your responsibilities? So you could avoid me?" It was less of a question but something he truly believed.

"I sacrificed being Iron Man so that I could sleep—" His voice waivered and broke when he realized what he had just admitted. He looked down in shame. Tears formed in his eyes and he furiously blinked them away, humiliated to show such weakness.

"What do you know about it?" Tony asked bitterly.

"I've had my fair share of loss."

"Dry your eyes Steve" Tony said, his voice hard, eyes cold. "It doesn't justify what you've done."

If Steve didn't want to listen to him, fine. He was use to the judgement, _why should I have expected that anything could have changed?_ Their voices were growing in anger and volume with each sentence. Cold rage tore between them. All the work that they had both done in an attempt to reach out to each other was forgotten.

"You have no idea what I've done."

"I know you took the things that mean the most to me."

"Well maybe you should have fought harder for them!"

"If you want a fight Steve, I'll give you another fight!"

Tony screamed his next words, venom dripping from each syllable: "You abandoned me! You took them away, and you abandoned me!" Tony's chest heaved, his eyes wide and crazed. All the painful memories that had built up in his mind were exploding at once, fueling his rage.

But Steve had his own rage.

"Wanda. Sokovia. New York." Steve stepped forward with each name, and Tony backed away with the force that each one carried. "What about them?" "What about Bucky?" His veins were bulging and his face was bright red. "What about the ones we are supposed to protect? The weak and the hopeless? The abused and the battered?" Steve had destroyed Tony with his words. His eyes had gone hollow and his face, pale.

But Steve didn't care.

He needed Tony to understand. Needed him to see his faults. So his rage crashed down on Tony in full force. "And look at you now Tony. Hiding! Pretending to be something you're not!" Steve was in disbelief that a man could be so selfish. So he continued his assault.

"You abandoned us all when you signed the accords." He threw Tony's words back into his face. "You abandoned us all when you gave up on Iron Man." Steve's eyes turned to ice; his heart into stone.

And Tony's heart shattered. Broken like a memory shoved under a bed.

"I may have left you all alone, but _you_ abandoned _us all_." He had roared the last words, and Tony had no response left to offer. His head was swimming and his heart pounding. He was trying to understand what was happening, but confusion muddled his thoughts. _All I wanted to do was protect the people I loved, and instead I abandoned them._ He had no idea what was right or wrong anymore.

So he just stood there, shaking. Taking in the hate he thought he deserved. Until Steve raised his hands in exasperation. And Tony lost it.

Steve's hands went up, and Tony saw them coming back down with his shield, aimed right at his chest. Suddenly he was back in Siberia, fighting for his life.

Tony flew backwards, crashing into a work table and knocking into a pile of scrap metal. Bruised and bleeding, he tried crying out in fear. But he was choking on his own words and his breath was too rapid to form any sentence. All he managed was to croak out a "please."

 _Don't hurt me,_ his mind filled in.

Tony scrambled away from Steve until he hit a wall. Sinking to the ground he began to feel overwhelmingly cold. He started to shiver and shake as memory bled into reality. His flashback, a living nightmare. _You're fine. You're not in Siberia. It's fine._ But horror filled his body and flooded his mind.

He was choking on the fear. Drowning in the pain. Tony fought it as best as he could. He put every shred of hope and light into the battle. But in the end, it wasn't enough.

Tony began to scream.

He screamed for everything that had gone wrong. For everything broken in his life.

Steve stared in shock at Tony. Frozen in his mixed emotions. He waited eagerly for the triumph to hit him. He had finally made Tony understand that he was selfish and wrong. He waited, and waited, and waited.

But it doesn't come.

Instead, he is flooded with panic, his eyes go wide in fear. _What did I just do? Oh my god, what did I just do?_ It was a stupid question. Steve knew exactly how the other man had looked when he had accused him of abandoning his friends. How Tony had paled and quivered. How he had looked like he might cry or be sick.

Yet Steve hadn't cared. _What kind of monster am I?_

"Tony?" Steve said softly, unsure if he would only make things worse. "Tony?!" He tried again in a louder and more fearful voice, as it was clear that Tony was trapped in another world.

Tony's screams were becoming hoarse and they soon gave way to hiccupping sobs. Steve knelt beside the trembling man and scooped him up into his arms. Positioning himself so he was cradling Tony in his lap. Tony either didn't notice, or didn't care, because he let Steve hold him like that. "I'm so sorry Tony. I'm so sorry. It's okay." He began to rub small circles on the other man's back. Tony had begun to calm down, but he was still shaking and tears were still streaming down his face. "I…I never…" Steve was at a loss for words. He could only apologize.

Despite the horrible situation, in the back of his mind Steve couldn't help but think, _This is probably the only time I'll ever get to hold Tony in my arms._ He rested his cheek on the other man's head and threaded his hands through Tony's hair. "I'm so sorry, Tony. Can you ever forgive me? Something is wrong with me. I don't compromise, and I don't listen. I see that now, and I will do anything in my power to change that."

Tony's breath was starting to slow, but his whole body was tense, as if he couldn't tell if he was in the arms of a friend or an enemy. And who could blame him? "Steve?" he questioned, confused and frightened as if he had just woken up from a nightmare. His voice was soft, sounding young and naïve.

Steve wrapped his arms tightly around the other man, trying to comfort him. "Tony, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you."

It was clearly the wrong thing to say. Tony shot up from the ground, pushing away from Steve. Snot and tears ran down his face and he looked at Steve with broken eyes. His voice was defeated, "But you did hurt me." He spun on his heels and made his way towards the exit.

And if not for Steve's super-soldier hearing, he would have missed Tony's final admission: "You're killing me." Steve flinched, and Tony left the room.

It was then that Steve's eyes were opened. He remembered how he had seen Bucky and forgotten Tony. How Steve had lied to him. How Tony had done everything for those he loved, and Steve had done everything for Bucky.

It was then, that Steve remembered how he had truly left Tony in Siberia.

It was then, that Steve started to cry.


End file.
